


Take My Heart (Please Don't Break It)

by KassandraScarlett



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, First Time, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett
Summary: It started with a kiss... Or, well, no, it started before that. Or maybe there was no start, maybe it just *was*.But there was a kiss. And it all went downhill from there for a very long time.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I wanna preface this by saying, I *loved* the ending. So this is just a fanciful reimagining.

**(I want to write you a song,**   
**One to make your heart remember me.**   
**So any time I'm gone,**   
**You can listen to my voice and sing along.**   
**I want to write you a song.)**

* * *

_There’s a cool breeze, a welcome break from the muggy heat of all morning and afternoon. Dad is in the store, stocking up on medical supplies and light snacks. Sam and Dean are waiting in the car. Sam’s got the window rolled down, head leaning against the door so he can keep an eye on dad through the glass panes of the shop. He knows they’re relatively safe out here, in the suburbs. But vigilance has been trained into him since before he knew the supernatural was something to be truly feared. Now he’s sixteen and he no longer remembers what the absence of that fear felt like._

_Dean’s sitting up front, but with his legs swung up on the seat and his back to the door, so he can watch Sam. What danger he thinks might befall them inside the car, Sam has no idea. But Dean’s always watching him. Sam doesn’t remember the absence of Dean’s eyes on him either._

_“What’cha thinking?” Dean breaks the silence._

_Sam doesn’t turn to him. Looking at Dean always feels like such an addiction, like Sam might never be able to look away. But he replies, “Nothing.”_

_He can imagine the eye-roll that earns. “Oh, come on, I know that face, that’s your Broody Eeyore face.”_

_The comparison makes Sam frown out the window. “I don’t have an Eeyore face,” he replies sullenly._

_“Sammy,” Dean calls teasingly, a warning that he isn’t above reaching into the backseat and tickling him to get a proper answer._

_Sam sighs loudly. “Nothing. Just…” He has to word this properly, otherwise it’ll start a fight. And Sam is so tired of fighting all the time, whether it’s with Dean or with Dad. “I can’t stop thinking something might happen.”_

_“What could happen here?” Dean asks. Then he amends, “Okay, stupid answer. Technically speaking, anything could happen here. But the chances are super low.”_

_Sam finally turns, facing Dean properly. “Don’t you get it? I’m afraid that something might attack us. Here. In the middle of a busy street, before it’s even actually nighttime. Do you see how wrong that is?”_

_Dean raises an eyebrow. “Wrong how?” His tone’s gone flat._

_“It’s not normal to be this scared all the time, Dean,” Sam tries to explain. “It’s not normal to never feel like you can’t let your guard down outside of salt lines and sigilled walls, even for just a second.”_

_“Well, kiddo, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Dean speaks firmly now. “But our lives ain’t exactly normal.”_

_Sam feels helpless, as he often does, to make him understand. “I’m tired of being afraid all the time, Dean.”_

_Dean bows his head a little, running his hand through his hair. When he looks back up, he seems tired. “I guess you’re too old for me to just say that Dad and I will always protect you.” He sounds a little wistful, a little sad._

_Sam bites his lip. “I still believe it.” He’s never been good at seeing his brother like this. “But…” He trails off._

_Dean sighs. “Well, I don’t know if there’s anything else that can be done to help with that,” he admits softly._

_Sam fights with himself for a moment, then shrugs stiffly. “No, I guess not. Apart from getting out.” He watches Dean warily. “Getting out of this life. And, you know, just-”_

_“Sammy.” This time, Dean sounds resigned, hurt. He’s watching Sam with that sad downturn to his lips, eyes dark in the gloom of the car._

_“What?” Sam whispers._

_“You know Dad’s never gonna hear you out,” he says. “And I’m with him on this.”_

_Sam purses his lips. “Well, that’s that, then, isn’t it.” It’s not a question._

_Dean chuckles a little. “What, no threats on how you’ll just walk out one day?”_

_Sam doesn’t like the note of unsureness in the question. “You’d die of heart burn within a month if I’m not there to shovel healthier stuff down your throat, dude. I don’t want that on my conscience.”_

_“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Dean says quietly. He’s smiling again, but there’s a bitter edge to it, that Sam thinks he should be able to decipher._

_He can’t._

_So he looks back out the window, watches dad approach the car. And he pretends he isn’t still afraid. He pretends he can’t feel Dean watching him._

* * *

**(Like a force to be reckoned with,**   
**A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss.**   
**I will love you without any strings attached.**   
**And what a privilege it is to love,**   
**A great honor to hold you up.)**

* * *

Life moves on, after Chuck. Dean didn’t honestly think he would ever be able to feel this happy again. And yet, he’s never been more glad to be proven wrong.

There's only one dark spot, one thing that Dean half-wishes he could change. 

"Sam?" He knocks lightly on the door, pleased when there isn't an answer. 

Pushing the door open, it takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Sam is asleep. He's been sleeping for longer and more deeply since they… Since it was all over a month ago. And Dean can't explain how glad he is to see the receding dark circles and the more frequent smiles. 

Confident that Sam won't wake, Dean creeps in on socked feet, Sharpie poised in his hand. Kneeling on the floor beside the bed, he gingerly switches on the lamp. 

Sam stirs immediately, brow furrowing. "De?"

_Shit_. "It's nothing," Dean murmurs soothingly, running his free hand through Sam's hair. "Go back to sleep, Sammy."

It works, miraculously enough, because Sam relaxes further, falling back to sleep. 

Dean doesn't take his hand away though. He strokes through the soft strands, then gently traces down the side of Sam's face. The amber light of the lamp is highlighting his features and Dean can't look away. 

Sam's eyelids twitch.

"What are you dreaming of, huh, Sammy?" Dean wonders in a whisper. 

Sam gives a little sigh, burrowing further into the blankets. Despite having a warmer core temperature than most people, he somehow never feels warm enough himself. 

Dean sighs too. There's an ache in his chest, a tight feeling that's part elation, part self-loathing, a feeling that he doesn't remember ever living without. When Chuck revealed his over-involvement in their lives, Dean thought _Maybe it's not my fault how I feel_. And then Chuck was gone. 

But Dean's ache isn't. 

And now here he is. They're free, God is their 3 year old kid, Sam is here, they're together, a few of their friends are still left alive and happy. 

It's everything Dean could ever want, but he still can't stop… Wanting. 

Whatever. He's happy. Genuinely so. 

With a deep breath, he uncaps his Sharpie, turns Sam's face towards himself for a better angle and, with self-satisfied glee, starts to draw. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> I Wanna Write You A Song - One Direction  
> Two - Sleeping At Last


	2. Chapter 2

**(Your hope dangling by a string,  
I'll share in your suffering, to make you well, to make you well.)**

* * *

_Dean's dead weight is a bitch to support, even just from the car to the motel. At least he's conscious, though everything coming out of his mouth is gibberish. Sam thinks, desperately, that once they're all through this, he's going to chew Dean out for an hour and then give him the silent treatment for a day._

_"Careful, just a few more steps," Dad says. His voice is clipped and even, but Sam can hear the fear and worry that's underlining it._

_"Two, s'just two more," Dean is mumbling. "Two more, and then…"A shudder passes through him just as Sam almost drops him onto one of the beds. " No! No, no, s'bad, s'wrong, all wrong."_

_The pain in his voice makes Sam's heart twist, but his mind feels frozen and he can't think of the words to console Dean. All he can do is clasp Dean's sweaty palm in his own, squeezing tight._

_"Sam, hold him down," Dad barks, holding a bowl of the antidote they'd mixed earlier in preparation of this very casualty. He grabs Dean's jaw, forcing his mouth open._

_Dean screams immediately, trying to twist away. "Sam!" He cries. "Sam, please! Please!"_

_Sam doesn't know- doesn't want to know- what the rakshasa's venom is making Dean see. But he quickly clambers over him, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists to either side of him._

_"It's okay, Dean," he tries to choke out. "It's okay, it's okay. It'll be over soon, it's okay."_

_Dean tries to turn towards Sam's voice. Dad doesn't let him, pouring the thick maroon liquid down his throat._

_Dean gags, but the heavy hand clamped over his mouth forces him to swallow. He shudders, eyes slipping close as the fight leaves him. He's still mumbling though._

_"Bad, bad, bad, so bad," he murmurs, sounding more miserable than Sam had ever heard him. "Monster… Please don't, don't, please…"_

_Sam lets him go, climbing off. He stands absolutely still, trying to control his own breathing. Dean's words evoke a sense if familiarity- the unexplainable feeling of being 'wrong', a 'monster'._

_"Sam? Are you okay?"_

_"Yes, sir, I'm fine," Sam whispers._

_Hands on his shoulders make him look up. His father is peering at him in concern._

_"Sammy," he says quietly. "You shot a teenager."_

_Bile rises up Sam's throat and he shuts his eyes. He can still see her face, the teenage wannabe witch who'd messed around with summoning spells too powerful. He can remember her snarl of rage as she directed the rakshasa towards Dean, the stupor in her wide eyes when Sam shot her too many times in the heart. She was 17, the same age as him. And he killed her._

_"She was hurting Dean," he tries to defend himself._

_"I know," Dad says calmly. But he's looking at Sam with so much sadness, so much guilt._

_"She was hurting Dean," he repeats, sounding desperate even to himself. "I… I had to… Dad, I had to."_

_"I know, son," Dad sighs. "Look, why don't you take the other room, get some rest? I'll keep an eye on Dean."_

_Sam opens his mouth to answer, but-_

_"Sammy?" Dean's weak voice is high, searching. His hand twitches, seeking. "Sorry, m'sorry. So bad, I know, s'bad. Sammy."_

_Dad takes a deep breath. "On second thought," he mutters. "He'll be more cooperative with you in this condition." He fixes Sam with a searching gaze. "Can you handle this?"_

_Sam swallows, but nods. A part of him wants to scream, admit that he can't do it, that he's too weak and too scared… But Dean needs him._

_Dad seems to hesitate for a second, then he pulls Sam into a loose embrace. "You did good, Sam," he assures softly. "Try to sleep if you can. Call me if you need to, I'm just next door."_

_He leaves the room. Sam takes up vigil at Dean's bedside. Dean remains unaware, the hallucinations still present, but diminishing in frequency. At some point, he seems almost lucid, fever-bright eyes fixing on Sam with alarming intensity._

_"Don't leave," he begs, sounding frantic. "Don't- please- I'll never, I won't, I swear it…" It breaks off into a whimper of pain. "Monster, poison… Run! Run, Sammy… Go, just go, please…"_

_"It's okay," Sam says. It's a Herculean effort to keep his voice steady. "It's okay, Dean."_

_Dean calms down at his voice. Sam doesn't let go of his hand._

_The witch's face haunts him, will probably continue to do so for a long time. And Sam can't even pretend he won't do it again, if it meant saving Dean, and that makes him feel more dirty. He killed a human being, for fuck's sake, and he can't even regret it._

_How much further will he go?_

_Somehow, it's the question that. scares him more than anything else._

* * *

**(You're like coffee so strong, I forget how to blink.**   
**When you get in my veins and you change how I think.)**

* * *

Sometimes, Dean hates Sam's patience. After the Sharpie incident, he didn't react, didn't retaliate, didn't even snap at Dean. 

Dean honestly thought something was wrong. And then, a week later… 

A week later, Sam smashes pie in his face. 

Dean kinda wants to scold him for wasting pie, but Sam's laughing, eyes bright as he picks at the cherry filling from the box. Dean stares at him for as long as he dares, then resumes eating. 

There's a few minutes of comfortable silence. Sam puts his arm on the back of the bench again and Dean can almost feel the brush of calloused fingers on the back of his neck. 

"Jody sent me a text," Sam speaks up. "It's a case."

Dean focuses on licking his fork clean, waiting for Sam to continue. When there's silence, he turns to him. Sam's eyes flick up to his, with just a hint of guilt. 

"If you need some alone time with the dessert…" He trails off. 

Dean smirks. "Oh, you have no idea."

Sam cringes, exaggerating his disgust, but biting back a smile. "Anyway, do you… You wanna check it out?"

Dean looks down at the empty box. There's a few things he could say, a hundred ways to say them, and he doesn't know how to pick. All he knows is… Well, nothing, actually. 

"We don't have to," he says softly. 

Sam gives a confused little hum, tilting his head in question. 

Dean shrugs. "Just saying. We don't… I mean, like you said, we're free now. That means…" He sighed. "You can do whatever you want, you know? We don't have to hunt."

For a long time, Sam is quiet. "Are you… Do you want to leave?"

It's the shock in his voice, mingled with hurt, that makes Dean look up at him. "Sammy, it's not about what I want."

The hurt turns to annoyance. "Oh, so, I'm the one who has to decide for both of us? What I want matters, but you don't have anything you want? That's bullshit, Dean."

Dean bites his lip. "I don't want you to leave," he admits, sounding more strangled than he wants to.

Sam relaxes. "That's settled then. I'm not going anywhere."

"But I don't want to hold you back!" Dean insists. "Jesus, Sammy, you- we can do anything we want now. And you can't tell me you don't want something more too."

Sam sighs, but doesn't shoot him down immediately. He tips his head back, staring up at the sky in consideration. "I guess… Yeah. Maybe- I don't know. Maybe finish my degree. Maybe get a teaching job. Maybe take over Bobby's role, since Garth doesn't do it anymore either."

Dean watches the line of his throat for a few seconds. "You probably should get a job," he murmurs. Then he grins, wide and lewd. "I'll be your kept man."

Sam flicks his fingers against Dean's temple, hard enough that it hurt a little. But he is grinning again and Dean takes the abuse with a smile, resolving to get revenge later. 

"So," Sam prompts. "Case?"

Dean nods. "Hell, yes. Let's go save someone." He stands up, yanking Sam to his feet. They end up standing too close. 

Sam shakes his head fondly, but he keeps Dean close, hand lingering on his shoulder. 

Dean doesn't lean into his side- can't risk it- but as they walk back to the car, he smiles again to himself and lets the last of his fears dissolve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> Gone, Gone, Gone - Philip Pullman  
> How A Heart Breaks - Drew Seeley


	3. Chapter 3

**(And I wonder if you know**  
**How it feels to let you go?)**

* * *

_He’s been trying so hard. Every day, every moment, he forces himself not to stand too close to Dean, not to touch him without need, not to look at him for longer than necessary. Everything just so he won’t slip up and do something he knows he’ll regret._

_He knows it’s hurting Dean, can see the confusion and sadness dimming his eyes every time Sam pulls away. Even with all his efforts, he can’t stop himself from noticing Dean in ways that no brother ever should. It scares Sam. It scares him worse than the monsters._

_And yet, a part of him thinks that maybe Dean knows why it’s happening, that maybe he feels the same way, maybe he wants Sam just as much as…_

_No. No, it can’t be. And even if it is, it shouldn’t be. Sam knows the lengths Dean will go to for him, probably better than even Dean himself does._

_Sam doesn't think he can stand that. He doesn't want to become any more of a monster than he feels but it would be infinitely better than letting Dean become a monster._

_All these thoughts run through Sam’s head as he and Dean stand on the bridge. There’s a point to these thoughts, a very good Point- capitalised because of how vital it is- but alcohol is making his mind blur and the snowflakes collected on Dean’s lashes make for a beautiful sight. Dean’s lashes are ridiculous. Dean is ridiculous. Sam should tell him that._

_“You’re beautiful,” he muttered. Then after a beat, he added, “And ridiculous.”_

_Dean doesn’t give any reaction, too focused on a point below Sam’s nose._

_Sam realizes with a jolt that Dean’s looking at his lips. “Dean?”_

_“Can I…?” Dean starts to ask, then pauses. “Sam…” He takes a deep breath, glassy eyes flicking up briefly._

_Sam makes what he will go on to think of as the biggest mistake of his life: he leans in, tilting his head just right to make sure there’s no miscalculation, and slots his lips against Dean’s._

_There’s no delay in reaction. Dean’s hands are cold as one cradles Sam’s face, the other sliding into his hair, and Sam licks into the welcome heat of his mouth, tasting the cheap scotch they both shared. It’s electrifying in a way he never believed first kisses could be and he can’t really think past the giddiness that Dean is kissing back, his thoughts a pleasant hum of_ more-yes-don’t stop-please _. Dean’s lips are as soft as they look and all his boasting is absolutely justified, practically stealing Sam’s breath and sense with his tongue._

_They pull apart for air. They’re the same height now, so Dean barely has to bend to reach Sam’s jaw, teeth grazing along the edge, and Sam takes advantage, closing his lips around Dean’s earlobe and tugging._

_Dean makes a noise, somewhere between desire and protest- it’s as good as an angry succubus’ nails raking across Sam’s chest, shocking and sobering him in a second._

_He pushes Dean off, stumbling away himself._

_Breathing hard, both of them stare at each other. Dean’s lips are red, stark against his pale skin. His hand is half-raised, fingers twitching like he wants to put them back in Sam’s hair._

_Sam understands that desire, returns it too. But he can’t let it happen, because all effects of alcohol have dissipated and he remembers the Point._

_Dean seems to read his mind. His face crumples and he swallows. “Sammy?”_

_Sam closes his eyes, turning away. “We’re so fucking drunk,” he bites out. “Dad’ll be waiting for us at the motel, come on.”_

_He starts walking, doesn’t wait for Dean to follow. He has no wish to look back, knows he can’t stand to look at Dean's face and see the heartbreak that he put there. He ignores the hollow ache in his own chest._

_The next day, Sam makes the real biggest mistake of his life, though he won’t know it for years to come: he hides his Stanford applications and abandons all his earlier plans of asking Dean to come along._

* * *

**(Been up all night**  
**All night, runnin' all my lines**  
**But it’s only the truth.)**

* * *

He knows he's in a hospital almost before he opens his eyes. Heaven sure as fuck didn't smell like antiseptic. Neither did Hell, for that matter.

Dean flexes his fingers experimentally. The cotton is scratchy under his palm. He can feel a needle in the crook of his elbow. There's sunlight on his face. And someone else's hand- he already knows who, of course- on his stomach. 

Gingerly, he opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is Sam. He's sitting in a chair that's too small for him, bent over in a way that can't possibly be comfortable, head resting on the bed and fingers curled into Dean's hospital gown. 

Dean gets a sudden lump in his throat. Mind surprisingly clear, he can perfectly recall the time when he'd last been conscious. He can remember the stab of the rebar through his back, Sam's tear-bright eyes and the warmth of his breath on Dean's forehead. He can remember the sensation of being torn apart when Sam stubbornly moved him off the wall, and the feeling of utter safety when he passed out in Sam's hold. 

He remembers everything he said, every word he'd spoken like a confession. 

He almost doesn't want to wake Sam up, doesn't want to have the conversation that he knows his brother will insist upon. 

But he can't stop himself from reaching either, running his hand through Sam's hair. It's greasy to touch, clumpy and knotted, like he hasn't washed it in several days. 

Sam stirs, slowly first, then instantly straightening, focusing on Dean. 

"Dean," he whispers. His eyes are bloodshot, slightly sunken. His lips are slightly cracked. He looks tired. 

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says quietly. 

Sam bites his lip. Almost sheepishly, he removes his hand from Dean's stomach, massaging the back of his own neck instead. 

"So…" Dean clears his throat. "How long have I been…?"

"Three days," Sam answers quickly. "They thought it might last longer, that you'll go into a coma to give your body time to heal."

Dean scoffs weakly. "Where are we?"

"General hospital, couple miles out from the… The barn." Sam shrugs. "Don't worry about the official story, I took care of it."

"Atta boy," Dean mutters. 

Sam looks at him for a long moment. "You don't wanna know how you're alive?"

Dean has to think about it, then he tilts his head in question. "Are either of us in danger, cursed, or bound?"

"No," Sam answers- honest because they've come too far together for anything less. 

"No trouble? At all?"

"None."

"And I'm not gonna grow a tail or feel like eating babies?"

"Uh… No?"

Dean nods. "Then let's just chalk it up to amazing doctors and the marvels of modern medicine for now. We can talk about it later."

All of a sudden,Sam looks close to tears. He scoots his chair forward, resting his chin on joined knuckles. 

"Please don't do that again," he whispers. "Please, I can't… Not after everything, Dean. I know you…" He takes a deep breath. "I know you think I can do it… I can't, okay? I don't want to."

Dean searches his brother's face, finding nothing but… Love. So much open affection that Dean wonders if he actually is dead and this is heaven. Except this is no memory. 

"Yeah, okay," he agrees softly, because what else can he do in the face of that? "Okay, Sammy. You and me from now on, I promise."

He waits for Sam to bring up what Dean said with supposed last breaths. It's the perfect opening. And for a second, it looks like Sam actually might. 

But he just shakes his head. He grabs Dean's wrist, squeezing it and just holding on for a few seconds, like he's taking Dean's pulse. Then he gets to his feet. "I'll get the nurse," he offers. His fingers brush across Dean's forehead, soothing and grounding, before he leaves the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> Stay - Hurts  
> Defenceless - Louis Tomlinson


	4. Chapter 4

**(I miss your tan skin, your sweet smile,  
So good to me, so right.  
And how you held me in your arms that September night,  
The first time you ever saw me cry)**

* * *

_ Another night. Another nightmare. This one doesn't end in blood and flames. _

_ Sam wakes up screaming anyway. “Jess!” He cries out, gasping. “Jess!” _

_There are hands all over him. “Sammy, hey, it’s okay,” Dean soothes. “Sam…”_

_ Usually, it works. Hearing Dean’s voice reminds him of where he is and that he isn't alone- Sam would snap out of it, too proud to show weakness to his big brother. _

_ But tonight… After Bloody Mary, after hearing his reflection give voice to all his own thoughts, after that mirage of Jessica on the street… _

_ Sam can't stop crying, can't stop screaming. A small part of his mind tells him there's no use, but the rest of him- sleepy and heartbroken and already tired of fighting evil- thinks that if he keeps calling, if he yells loud enough… He’d hear her call back. _

_ The hands on him extend into arms, strong and firm as they hold him down. _

_ “Sam, it’s okay, calm down, man,” Dean is saying softly. “Just a dream. S’just a nightmare.” _

_ “No,” Sam gasps. “No, Jess, she’s… I gotta… I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” _

_ “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Dean whispers. He's rocking back and forth. “Not your fault, Sammy.” _

_ “I killed her,” Sam chokes out, regaining enough sense to pull back and look Dean in the eye. “How could I? Jess… I loved her. I love her, please, I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry.” _

_ Dean’s eyes shine in the dark. “”I know,” he says. “I know, sweetheart. It's okay, it's okay, shh.” _

_ Sam closes his eyes, burying his face in Dean’s chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have told her, I should have protected her, Dean. God, Jess…” _

_ He has no idea when he falls asleep, exhaustion winning out over grief, but when he wakes up, he has Dean curled around him from behind, somehow having adjusted them so he could comfortably be the big spoon. He has one hand tangled in Sam’s hair, one hand cupping his hip, and his nose is skimming along the back of Sam's neck. He doesn't know Sam is awake. _

_ Sam shifts, only slightly. _

_ Dean’s breathing stills for a second. “Sam?” He whispers, tense. _

_ Sam doesn't answer, keeping his own breathing steady and his eyes close. _

_ Dean sighs, warm air tickling Sam’s scalp. “Guess you didn’t have any more nightmares,” Dean murmurs, relaxed again. His fingers stroke through Sam’s hair. “Too bad I can’t just sleep next to you like this every night.” He pauses, then huffs in bitter amusement. “I mean, I can’t even ask and you’d never let me anyway.” _

_ Sam feels the urge to swallow nervously, to look back and tell Dean… Well, he doesn't know what to say. _

_ Dean sighs again and presses a kiss to the side of Sam’s head. “God, I love you, Sammy.”  _

_ Sam hates himself for wishing Dean didn’t sound so sad while saying it. _

* * *

**(I recall late November, holdin' my breath,  
Slowly I said, "You don't need to save me.  
But would you run away with me?")**

* * *

Dean hovers between consciousness and sleep, not quite able to get comfortable in a way that doesn't irritate his wounds.

The knock jolts him back into awareness. Blinking his eyes open, he sees Sam standing at the door, looking hesitant.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Couldn’t sleep.” He swallows. “Can I…?”

Dean shifts in answer, making space. Sam is there in a heartbeat, gracefully sliding in besides him, but not quite touching. For a long time, they just lay there, quiet and tense, unspoken things thick in the air between them.

Dean stares up at the ceiling through sleepy, half-lidded eyes. He doesn't turn, but he's perfectly aware of Sam watching him with a soft sort of intensity.

“What’s wrong?” He asks in a murmur.

Sam’s sigh is loud in the closed room. “Just… Really glad you’re here. Not, you know…”

“Dead?” Dean deadpans.

He can feel Sam’s wince. “Don’t be so blase about it,” he requests.

Dean takes a deep breath, making a face at the slight pull to the stitches in his back. “Yeah, alright.”

There's another silence, slightly less heavy.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy.”

“Did you mean it? What you said, when you, you know, that night… Was that true?”

Dean can't say he's surprised at the topic. He turns his head to face Sam, who's looking back at him with wide eyes, a guilt there that Dean hasn’t seen in years, not since… Since before Stanford.

“Yeah.” His voice is raspy all of a sudden.

Sam closes his eyes for a brief moment. “D’you ever wish it wasn’t?”

Dean almost answers  _ yes. _ But then he pauses, thinking. Who is he, if he doesn't feel the way he does about Sam? Their friends would assure him that he's his own person, and a psychologist would tell him not to define himself by someone else.

But there is no psychologist with enough credibility to help a Winchester and none of their friends will ever understand this one thing about them.

Dean is nothing if he doesn't have Sam, in any way that he can. That isn't because of Dad, or Chuck, or their lives. It's just who he is.

“No,” he whispers, in answer to Sam’s query. “No, I don’t. I made my peace with myself years ago, man. And believe it or not, I’m happy with it.”

Sam doesn't reply. Instead, he scoots closer, closing the sparse distance. Moving slowly, like he's afraid of being rejected, he places his hand over Dean’s chest, the heat of his huge palm bleeding through the thin fabric. His lips move soundlessly, like he's keeping time of Dean’s heartbeats.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice is way too soft.

Sam doesn't meet his eyes. “Turn around,” he instructs instead. “You might tear your stitches if you sleep on your back.”

_ Don’t turn your back on danger- _ it's a basic rule. But Dean is a sucker for pain and he lets himself be turned on his side, lets Sam curl behind him in a way they so rarely do, leaving himself open to having his heart broken by the way Sam’s hand sneak under his t-shirt, fingers tracing along the stitches that are going to leave a scar.

“G’night, Dean,” Sam whispers.

Dean lets out a shaky breath. “Night, Sammy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> Back To December - Taylor Swift  
> Call It What You Want - Taylor Swift


	5. Chapter 5

**(Don't you know I try  
To forget about you at night?  
Being more than just friends, oh I, need ya)**

* * *

_ “Please, Dean, I am literally begging you now.” Sam considers getting to his knees, but figures that would be too far. “I put salt in your coffee, you replaced my shampoo with pink dye, I changed your morning alarm, you stole half of all my socks- please, stop!” _

_ Dean, the bastard, just happily munches on his burger. “I’m sorry, Sammy, but you started it this time.” He shakes his head mockingly. “You messed with my coffee, man, I can’t forgive that.” _

_ Sam thunks his forehead against the edge of the table. “I was bored,” he says, drawing out the syllables. “And I’ve apologized. It’s time for a truce.” He gives Dean his most pitiful look, widening his eyes and letting his lower lip tremor a bit. _

_ Dean has wisen up to it though; he doesn’t even look at Sam, just smirks at a point behind him. With a frown, Sam turns to look, spots a woman returning Dean’s interest with a smile of her own, barely seeming to realize that Sam is there too. _

_ Jealousy is an old friend when it comes to Dean and his hookups, so Sam is used to turning a blind eye, masking his longing with teasing remarks and the knowledge that, if nothing else, Dean will still come back to him in the morning. After all, Sam had his chance and he gave it up. He has no right to Dean anymore, not in that sense. _

_ But tonight… They’ve been so busy lately, case after case after case, Dean refusing to allow them a break, what with his deadline arriving too soon in just five months. Tonight is the first night in a long time that they aren’t crashing into their beds, or patching each other’s wounds up, or researching a way to get out of a crossroads deal. _

_ Sam really just wants to spend time with his brother tonight. _

_ “Go back to the motel if you want,” Dean says, tossing him the car keys. “I’ll see you in the morning.” _

_ “Morning?” Sam repeats. _

_ “Boy, you really are drunk if you’re repeating after me.” Dean throws him a wink, snatches the keys back. “Walk it off. I have a date. One-night-only, can’t miss it.” He’s gone before Sam can reply. _

_ Sam stays in his seat for a few long minutes, watching Dean saunter up to the chick with his trademark grin. It’s nigh irresistible, that look. Sam knows from experience. _

_ A fantastic- if slightly selfish- idea occurs to him. _

__ Don’t do it, _ he tries to tell himself. But he knocks back the last of his beer and stands. Confident in the knowledge that people tend to overlook him when Dean’s present, he heads in that direction, stumbling a little, like he’s drunker than he actually is. _

_ “There you are,” he announces brightly when he’s close enough. _

_ Dean turns to him with raised eyebrows. The woman looks mildly disoriented, blinking at Sam in confusion. _

_ “You left me alone,” Sam mutters. “Can’t do that, De.” He sways forward, resting his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. _

_ Dean gives a nervous laugh, catching on to Sam’s game. “Sorry, Maddy, uh, this is, it’s just Sammy, he’s my little-” _

_ “Late,” Sam interrupts. “S’late, De, I wanna go home.” He pauses. “Take me home, baby, please?” _

_ Dean literally freezes, before pinching Sam’s side in retaliation. Sam just grabs his hand, twining their fingers together with a dopey smile and pressing a loud kiss to Dean’s temple. _

_ The woman has gone from confused to a mix of disappointment and bemusement. “You guys are adorable,” she says sweetly. _

_ Sam likes her a whole lot more now and gives her a small wave in response. _

_ Dean sighs, knowing he’s lost. Once people reach the  _ aww, you’re so cute _ stage, there’s no fixing the damage. “Well, I better take him home,” he says, through a smile that’s all teeth and no humor, winding an arm around Sam’s waist to keep up his act. “Come on, sugar.” The venom in the endearment is hilarious. _

_ Sam hides his smile in Dean’s spiky hair. _

_ Once they reach the car, Dean shoves him off. “Really?” _

_ Sam giggles- okay, maybe he is really drunk. “Oh god, the look on your face.” He adopts a simper, batting his eyelashes as ridiculously as he can. “Take me home, baby, please?” He mimics himself. _

_ Dean clenches his jaw, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re a bitch, you know that?” _

_ Sam throws his head back and laughs, overjoyed at the tiny victory. “Should have taken the truce,” he reminds him. _

_ The annoyance on Dean’s face is gone, replaced by a softness in his gaze. “Alright,” he agrees easily. “Now we have a truce. Happy?” _

_ “Completely,” Sam promises. _

* * *

**(You're still the one I run to  
The one that I belong to  
You're still the one I want for life)**

* * *

If asked before, Dean would have said he wanted to be a firefighter. Now, he doesn’t honestly think he can handle fires at all. Or, well, he doesn’t want to handle fires.

Park ranger, on the other hand- there are plenty of creepies and crawlies that hang out in forest areas and Dean knows he’s qualified for the job. More than qualified.

Still, he’s somewhat surprised when his application goes through and he gets the job.

“Dean?” Sam waves a hand in front of his face. “You okay?”

Dean nods, feeling dazed in the face of his success and the pride etched into Sam’s features. With a sudden laugh of amazement, he tilts his head back for a moment, shaking his head incredulously. “I can’t believe this- it feels like a dream.”

Sam obligingly delivers a swift kick to his knee. “Not a dream. You did it, Dean.”

Dean nods, looking around at their surroundings. Sam’s brought him to a bar, a classy little spot that’s their usual hangout in Lebanon, saying they might as well celebrate. 

“Well, it’s your turn next.” Dean points at Sam with his glass. “Still want to stick to teaching?”

Sam smiles lazily. “I don’t need anything more exciting than hunting and we’re not retiring from that yet.”

“Yeah, I see your point,” Dean says with a nod, trying not to eye the strand of hair that’s falling down the side of Sam’s face. He has a ridiculous urge to push it back behind his ear, but refrains. Since that night Sam crawled into bed with him, they haven’t spoken about  _ it  _ yet. Dean’s not eager to do anything that would bring it up.

“But, hey.” Sam leans forward, eyes serious. “You gotta be careful, okay? I know it feels like your job is gonna be easy compared to fighting monsters, but-” He shook his head. “Can’t be too cautious. And we both know humans aren’t always better than the supernatural.”

“Sammy, calm down,” Dean soothes, with just the right amount of levity to ease Sam. “Yes, fine, I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Sam sighs, but his shoulders loosen a little more and he signals the bartenders for another round. Dean idly thinks that it’s a good thing they’re both so used to driving while a little tipsy.

The night passes with fun. It’s apparently Trivia Night for amateurs and while Dean’s got half his attention on the TV screen showing reruns of some old game, he’s also watching Sam murmur answers to the trivia questions under his breath. Every now and then, Sam returns his gaze, a quick little smile flitting over his lips like an automatic reaction.

“Hi, Dean, Sam.”

Both of them turn to see a dark-haired woman appear on Dean’s other side, with a mocktail topped by a pink umbrella in her hand.

“Lila,” Dean greets with a grin. He also tenses slightly, wondering if Sam knows that he hooked up with her a few times. She’s fun to talk to, kinda crazy behind closed doors, and understands that Dean’s not looking for anything serious- so why not?

Sam’s expression doesn’t give anything away though. He smiles at her in greeting, tipping his drink towards her.

“You boys got plans for tonight?” She asks, with an almost knowing look in her green-gold eyes.

Dean falters, turns to Sam. He’s already looking at him, eyebrows raised in question. Dean bites his lip. He doesn’t want to leave Sam’s side yet- something feels unsaid- but there’s an itch under his skin and he really needs it gone before he snaps and does something stupid.

Sam senses his indecision- he makes this weird little sound that’s a mix of amusement and resignation.

“No, we’re done mostly,” he says to Lila, though he never looks away from Dean. “He’s yours for the rest of the night.”

Lila returns Sam’s wry smile with a grin of her own. “Thanks. And don't worry, I’ll take care of him.”

Dean clears his throat, raising his hand. “ _ He _ is right here, please and thank you.”

“Oh, hush,” Lila laughs, tossing her curls back as she gives Sam a one-sided hug. “Night, Sam.”

“Goodnight.”

Dean stands and Lila slides her fingers into Dean’s, starts to pull him away. Before Dean can glance back, there’s another hand grabbing his free wrist, calloused palm familiar against his skin. He’s pulled back a little, into the V of Sam’s legs. He doesn’t get the chance to turn before the hand moves to his waist and Sam speaks, just a little closer than normal to his ear, “I really am proud of you, you know that?”

Dean nods, stuck staring at Lila’s patient face, not quite trusting his voice.

Sam’s smile is audible in his next words. “See you in the morning.” He lets go.

At the door, Dean looks back to see Sam staring into his glass of whiskey, looking just a tiny bit sad.

Outside, Lila stops by her car. “When are you two going to stop dancing around each other and get on with it?”

One downside to being with Lila- she's way too observant. Then again, the whole town thinks he and Sam are not-brothers.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean says.

She steps into his space. She’s nearly as tall as him, so she barely has to look up to meet his eyes. “You get what he just did in there, right?” She asks coyly, fingers curling into the belt loops of his jeans. “He made sure you’ll be thinking of him the whole night.”

Dean sighs, looking up at the stars for a second. “Are we gonna stand here talking?”

She laughs lightly, kissing him, sudden and deep. “Dean Campbell,” she mutters. “You and your ‘ _brother_ ’-” The air quotes are unmissable. “-are two very foolish men.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> If I Get My Way - Little Mix  
> You're Still The One - Shania Twain


	6. Chapter 6

**(Oh, you can fit me  
Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen  
Next to your heartbeat where I should be  
Keep it deep within your soul)**

* * *

They have twenty four hours to themselves. Twenty four hours before Sam drinks a good few gallons of demon blood and goes to pay a visit to Lucifer.

Next to him, Dean is utterly silent.

Sam breaks it first. “Can I… There’s something I need to do.”

Dean starts, but despite what he reluctantly promised Sam a few minutes ago, he's quick to nod. “Yeah, sure, anything.”

_Anything._ How like Dean to offer Sam limitless possibilities, when Sam can't bring himself to ask for most of them.

“Can you take us to Palo Alto?” Sam asks, quietly. “The… Cemetery.” There's something he should have done long ago, but never did for some reason. Now, with Brady’s words fresh in his thoughts, there's no sense in putting it off. He’s already made his apologies to Dean. There's just one more thing he still needs to repent for.

Dean looks taken aback, but readily turns the car towards California. The drive is tense, with Dean constantly sneaking looks at him- sad, worried, hurt, angry- and Sam openly staring back, barely taking his eyes off his brother.

They reach fairly quickly, Sam directing Dean to avoid the places he used to frequent. The cemetery is peaceful, acres of grass broken by marble slabs and colorful flowers.

Sam heads straight to the one he stood at five years ago. Jessica Lee Moore. The tiny photo of her shakes him to his core. God, he didn't even realize that he'd begun to forget her face. She deserves better than that.

He doesn't so much kneel as he does collapse, legs giving out under him, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by everything that has happened in the last two years and what is about to come the next day.

Dean starts towards him, but stills, hovering close enough to touch but not quite.

For a long time, Sam just stares at the photo, traces the letters of her name with his eyes. There's nothing beneath the soil, he knows. There was no body, just like with their mother’s.

“Brady was right,” he finally says quietly. “She was dead the second I decided I wanted to be with her.”

Dean stays quiet for once, listening carefully.

“I thought I was out, that I was safe. And that she would be safe.” Sam gives a small laugh. It sounds bitter even to his own ears. “If I’d known my life had been hijacked from before I was even born, I’d never have gotten that close to her. Hell, I don’t think I’d ever even have left for college in the first place.” He sighs. “But I was… I was thinking of marrying her.”

Sam reaches into his pocket, pulls out a ring- a simple silver band, with a single stone. Dean visibly startles, but his hand is steady when it lands on Sam’s shoulder. 

“I loved her so much, you know?” Sam murmurs. “She was… The only person I’ve ever loved, I think.” _Apart from you_ , he adds to himself.

Is it his imagination, or did Dean’s fingers curl just a little tighter?

But this isn't the time to think of that. Slowly, painstakingly, he digs a small hole in front of the headstone. And just like he did with his father's dog tags at Mary Winchester’s grave, he drops the ring into the soil and covers it up again.

Dean helps him to his feet. He has an almost pained look on his face, like it hurts him to look at Sam, but he can't look away either.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Dean says.

Sam tilts his head. “For what?” He asks, confused.

Sadness flashes through Dean’s eyes and he shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says again and it sounds like _don’t go_ and _don’t do this_ and _please don’t leave me._

Sam nods. “I’m sorry too.”

But his hand drift back to his pocket. There's one more object in there, a bronze amulet that broke Sam’s heart when it fell from Dean’s hand. Sam's going to hang on to it. It's probably the only thing that will give him strength tomorrow.

* * *

**(Last night I lay in bed so blue  
'Cause I realized the truth  
They can't love me like you  
I've tried to find somebody new  
Baby, they ain't got a clue  
Can't love me like you)**

* * *

Dean doesn't realize Sam's in his room until the headphones are yanked away.

“Hey!” He complains, tearing his eyes away from the movie on his laptop. But he quiets when he sees the tense look on Sam’s face. “What is it?”

Sam hovers for a few seconds, one hand tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. “I found something,” he mumbles.

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“You know how… Cas used to hang out in my room? For the TV?” Sam asks, careful like he's wary of Dean’s reaction.

Cas’ name makes Dean wince, but he nods, sitting up straighter.

Sam sits beside him on the bed, still with that gentle look on his face. “So, I’d cleared out the top drawer for him. He kept a few books and magazines there, for when he got tired of Netflix.” He fiddles in his pocket for a minute, then sighs. “I was looking for my book and… I found this.” Bringing his hand out, he shows Dean a mixtape.

The mixtape Dean made. _Dean’s Top 13 - Zepp’s Traxx._

Dean stares at it. He only has a faint memory of the day he finally got tired of Cas listening to the radio all the time and resolved to making him the mixtape in order to “give you an education in what real music is.” The day he handed it to Cas with a stern look is hazy in his mind too, but he thinks Cas looked pleasantly startled when he realized it was a gift. What he does clearly remember is when the angel tried to return it, only to accept it back with something pained in his features. 

At the time, Dean equated it to guilt, maybe, that he was actually diverting Dean’s attention in order to steal the Colt. Or maybe regret because he was planning on betraying them for Kelly Kline and her then-unborn son.

Now, though… Dean can't help run through those memories, and so many others, with a fine-toothed comb, trying to find the cues he missed, trying to understand…

Dean knows how almost all of his decisions are coloured by Sam, by all the need and love and protectiveness he feels towards his little brother.

Was it the same for Cas? How many of his decisions- good and bad- were because of… Of Dean? How many of those decisions hurt other people, hurt Sam, or Dean himself?

“Dean?” Sam’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, the wariness turned into worry.

Dean blinks at him. “Do you miss him?”

Sam looks taken aback, but answers readily, “Yeah.” He tilts his head in question. “Don’t… You?”

Dean has to think about it. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. On the one hand, Castiel was a constant fixture in their lives. On the other, Dean doesn't think he misses anyone these days.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Sam says quietly.

“Feels like it _shouldn’t_ be okay.”

Much to Dean’s surprise, Sam nods. “I know.”

For a few minutes, they sit there in silence. Then, Dean reaches forward, gently curling Sam’s long fingers so they're closed over the cassette. Sam lets it happen, not reacting.

“Keep it safe?” Dean requests. “I can’t… I don’t want to.”

Sam gives a little nod, extracting his hand from Dean’s. With a comforting little nudge of their knees, he stands.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Dean can't help ask.

Sam pauses at the door.

“You knew.” It isn't really a question. Sam wasn't surprised when Dean told him about Cas’ death and he doesn't look surprised now.

Instead, he seems thoughtful. “Maybe not exactly how he felt,” he says slowly. “But I knew where I stood with him.”

Dean clicks his tongue, a bit annoyed. “Wanna explain that a little better?”

Sam’s smile is a little sad. “No. I don’t think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> Photograph - Ed Sheeran  
> Love Me Like You - Little Mix


	7. Chapter 7

**(So I heard you found somebody else  
And at first I thought it was a lie.)**

* * *

_ Dean insists on driving to Benny’s grave.  _

_ It hurts Sam, but then again, everything hurts these days. Might as well add this to the list. _

_ He feels weak, can barely walk two steps without biting his tongue to hold back a cry of pain. But he helps Dean dig up the grave, helps to re-bury Benny’s body. Dean’s gratitude comes in the form of a shaky nod and a little smile that’s downturned at the corners with guilt. Sam allows himself to feel a little better at that, even if it’s tinged with bitterness. _

_ “I swear I tried,” he mumbles as they drive back home. He can’t  not , when he knows Dean just lost a friend ( brother , a corner of his mind cackles cruelly) to save Sam. _

_ Dean cuts him a look that’s half-confusion, half-worry. “I know you did.” He seems to think for a moment. “I never thought… That you didn’t. That you didn’t try your damndest to bring him along. Not for a second.” _

_ Blood briefly chokes Sam’s throat. “Okay.” _

_ Silence ensues and he should really leave it at that. But he’s a glutton for self-punishment, can put Dean’s martyrdom to shame on really bad days. _

_ “Did you love him?” _

_ The car swerves for a split second, Dean’s hands slipping on the steering wheel. “The hell kind of a question is that, Sam?” He sounds angry. _

_ It takes Sam back to a few months ago, when every second word out of his brother’s mouth was coloured with fury. “Did you?” He asks. _

_ Dean audibly grits his teeth. “You’re the one who went and fell in love with someone, Sam.”  _ Someone who isn’t me _ , is left unsaid. _

_ Sam nods. “Not enough,” he admits, a secret he kept from Dean for half a year in the hopes of… What? Hurting him? Protecting Amelia? Simply to keep the two halves of his life separate? _

_ Except Dean isn’t half of him. He’s more, always has been, so much that Sam doesn’t think he passes as a person without him. _

_ His confession turns Dean’s breathing heavy, like he’s holding something back. “Yeah, well.” His voice sounds thick with grief. “Same story every time, ain’t it? Nothing else is ever enough.” _

_ “I’m sorry,” Sam whispers.  _ Sorry I wasn’t brave enough. Sorry I left you. Sorry that I’m only ready now when I’m dying. _ Because that’s another secret: he is dying. He can feel it, can feel the Trials breaking him down from the inside, atom by atom. He’s known it since the first time he spit blood out of his mouth. _

_ Dean will try to stop him if he finds out. Sam can’t let him do that. _

_ Dean shakes his head. “Not your fault,” he sighs wearily. “Besides… He knew.” He chuckles, but it’s dark. “Seems like everyone does.” _

_ Sam swallows. He’s in love with his brother and, for the first time since he was 18, feels brave enough to tell him. But he’s dying and he’s not cruel enough to do that to Dean. _

Sorry it’s too late to tell you I love you.

* * *

**(If ever there was a doubt  
My love she leans into me  
This most assuredly counts  
She says most assuredly)**

* * *

Dean stares at the scene ahead of him. “I can’t believe it.”

“You better,” Sam says, restrainedly gleeful as he rubs his fingers nervously against the steering wheel.

Dean swallows. “I think I really am going to cry,” he admits in a hushed whisper.

Sam’s laugh is gentle. “Yeah, but… Happy tears, right?”

“Right.”

The view that Dean is gazing at in wonder deserves all the tears, he decides. The Iola Classic Car Show. He’s wanted to come for years, but with Apocalypse after Apocalypse, there was never time. And Sam didn’t have the same love that he did, so it was no fun to come alone.

It’s all he can do not to run around screaming like a child in a candy store. It helps that Sam barely strays from his side, always hovering close by, one arm casually slung around Dean’s shoulders.

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever been gladder that Sam is so naturally tactile. When they were younger, Sam would always be the one to hug him first, always reaching to tug Dean’s sleeve, or gripping Dean’s hands on the steering wheel while begging him to look at the road.

It was Dean who pushed him away, suddenly afraid of the touches, afraid of what he might do one day. And Sam, after a brief period of confusion and hurt, had accepted the situation and drawn away.

When they got back on the road together… Oh, how the table turned. Four years of withdrawal and Dean couldn’t stop reaching for Sam, couldn’t stop touching him.

They traded off over the years, back and forth, back and forth, between  _ don’t touch me _ and  _ don’t stop touching me _ , never on the same page. Until now.

So, yeah, the weight of Sam’s arm is comforting as Dean babbles on about the makes and models and engines and whatnot of all the cars around them, or chatting with likeminded people who approach the Impala to drool over it. Dean is particularly smug about that- she’s his baby and she deserves all the love.

“Sometimes, I swear you love that car more than me,” Sam says, sounding amused, when Dean voices his thoughts out loud.

Dean turns his head-  _ oh, woah, Sam’s awfully close-  _ and pats the hand closest to him comfortingly. “Don’t worry, Sammy,” he assures mockingly. “You know you’re the only girl in my life.”

Sam raises an eyebrow.

“Baby’s not a girl,” Dean explains. “She’s a lady. Classy. Royal. She’s a fucking queen and she should damn well be treated like one.”

Sam laughs- it’s a breathy chuckle against Dean’s ear and it sends a shiver down his spine that makes him consider moving away, to create distance so Sam doesn’t see the effect he has on him.

But he stays put, suddenly quiet, unsure, but certain that he doesn’t  _ want  _ to move.

Sam’s smile is smaller this time, but sweeter. He noses at Dean’s temple, like he’s breathing him, and his arm slides down Dean’s back, settles around his waist instead. It’s enough to compel Dean to turn towards him a little.

“Happy birthday,” Sam whispers.

Dean smirks up at him. “Bitch, if you don’t have pie waiting for me back home…”

Sam laughs and tugs him in the direction of the Impala, never letting too much space come between them.

Once there, Dean twists a little, hugs Sam like they’d just been separated for days. “Thank, Sammy,” he says quietly.

Sam’s next breath is shaky on the exhale. “Yeah.” His voice is rough. “Glad you had fun.”

Dean holds on for another beat, maybe a few seconds too long, before letting go. But that’s alright- Sam holds on to him just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> Somebody Else - The 1975  
> Look After You - The Fray

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: kassyscarlett


End file.
